


Dreaming From the Heart

by Shea M (bubblebee)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: But there's no canoodling, Dreams, I just wanted soft steter, M/M, Peter Cares, Short, Soft Peter Hale, Stiles is underaged, i have no idea when this takes place, i hope this makes sense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-09
Updated: 2017-10-09
Packaged: 2019-01-15 03:24:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12312828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bubblebee/pseuds/Shea%20M
Summary: In the dream, Stiles is running.





	Dreaming From the Heart

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what this is, I just wanted soft Steter. 
> 
> Stiles is still underaged (he's 17) but I don't really know when this takes place. 
> 
> The Hale house is alive and Peter is there, that's all I know. 
> 
> Sorry bout it.

In the dream, Stiles is running. 

 

He's running and he's running  _ fast _ , normally gangly legs carrying him gracefully across the forest floor, feet beating a song into the dirt. He dashes in between crooked trees and flies over tricky roots. The world around him is a moonlit blur, the only thing worth looking at is right in front of him. 

 

Except, he doesn't know what he's running towards. 

 

Or from. 

 

Stiles doesn't feel any fear in the dream, but he doesn't exactly feel at ease, either. Almost like he's late for something important, but he can't remember what, or he never knew to begin with. 

 

He also thinks he's running too fast to be  _ human _ . 

 

Long dead leaves crunch underneath his feet, and Stiles can  _ feel _ the crisp autumn air bite into his exposed skin as he darts through the forest. It's the most lucid dream he's ever had, and the most recurring, as he has this dream almost every other night. 

 

Stiles doesn't know what it means. All he does in it is run, feeling sort of lost, but with purpose. Like he's  _ supposed _ to be running around in the middle of the woods late at night. He thinks he was told to, because he's helping someone, but he never figures out why or who. 

 

He wakes up right when he skids to a stop, dirt and leaves kicking up around him. 

 

The dream leaves Stiles gasping for breath, eyes flying open and legs twitching like he's just ran a marathon. His lungs burn behind his ribs and his heart pounds against his chest. It's not another one of his nightmares, but it's not the most pleasant of dreams he's had. 

 

Stiles always shakes it off, shoving it to the back of his mind while he wades through all his classes. Bits and pieces resurface throughout the day: the freezing air whipping across his skin, leaves singing under his shoes, the smear of trees racing out the corner of his eyes. 

 

He ignores those, too. 

 

He doesn't mention the dream to any of his friends, because he doesn't want them to think he's getting bad again. While the dream isn't  _ bad _ , it's certainly not  _ good _ , and he doesn't want the pack giving him different theories on what they all think the dream means. It hasn't killed him yet, so he thinks it's okay. 

 

Peter is actually the first one to notice something is off. 

 

“You're not sleeping well.” He says to Stiles one night after a routine pack meeting. It's not a question. Peter's eyes stare a hole into Stiles’ mole sprinkled face. He doesn't look concerned exactly, as Stiles doesn't think he's capable of the emotion, but curious. 

 

“I'm sleeping fine.” Stiles lies, too tired to get into anything with the man tonight. Of course he hasn't been sleeping well. When does he ever? 

 

“Any particular reason you haven't been sleeping much lately?” Peter pushes on, seeing right through Stiles’ lazy fib. 

 

Stiles sighs. 

 

He crosses his legs more comfortably on the part of the kitchen counter he's occupied and stares down at his hands because he doesn't know where else to look. Peter's gaze has always been a bit too intense for Stiles’ liking. 

 

“I keep having this...dream. At least I think it's a dream. I  _ hope  _ it's a dream. I don't really know what else it could be.” 

 

Peter nods slightly to show he's listening. 

 

Stiles goes on. 

 

“In this dream, I'm running through the forest. It's dark, and it's cold. I don't know where I'm going, or even  _ why _ I'm running, but I don't think I'm under attack. It doesn't feel that way, anyways, but I'm running with a purpose. Almost like I'm supposed to  _ be  _ somewhere, or do something, but I don't know what. No one else is there with me, and all I do throughout the  _ whole _ dream is...run.”

 

“How does this dream end?” Peter asks, head tilted to the side thoughtfully. 

 

“I  _ stop _ running, actually. Nowhere in particular and nothing about my surroundings seems too important. Then I wake up. “ Stiles looks up at Peter then, trying to gauge his reaction. 

 

Peter doesn't say anything for a moment, and his face is annoyingly blank. 

 

When he does speak again, it's almost hesitantly.

 

“How do you... _ feel _ in these dreams? What are your emotions while you're running through the woods? Do you remember?” He inches a bit closer to Stiles, arms crossed over his broad chest. 

 

Stiles nods. “I feel almost calm, but anxious at the same time. Like I've forgotten something but I know it's not a big deal that I did.” He tacks on the last part before he can second guess himself. “I don't feel human, either.” 

 

Peter's eyes light up with interest. 

 

“What do you mean you don't 'feel human’?” 

 

“I mean I  _ don't feel human _ . Like I've been changed. I feel...stronger. I'm running faster. I can hear everything better, smell everything better.” 

 

“You're having dreams about being a werewolf?” Peter questions, a bit too quickly and excitedly for Stiles’ comfort. 

 

“I guess so…that's what it seems like.” Stiles hops off the counter, but Peter doesn't move back when he does, so now they're standing almost chest to chest. 

 

“Do you want the bite, Stiles? I'd be more than happy to give you that gift.” 

 

“No, I don't, now would you please move? I have homework to do.” 

 

Peter studies him for a second, eyes narrowed in thought, before he finally steps aside so the younger man can leave. Stiles can't move fast enough. He snatches his backpack off the floor next to where he was perched on the counter, throws a goodbye over his shoulder to the rest of the pack, and slams out the door. 

 

Everyone looks up at the door, and then at Peter, who merely shrugs his knowledge of the boy's behavior, and heads upstairs. 

 

Outside, Stiles sits in his still sleeping Jeep, Peter's unceremonious offer dancing around in his mind. It's not that he  _ doesn't  _ want to be like the others, because he does. He would love to not be the weakest link in the chain, would love to not be the one constantly holding everyone back. 

 

He's just not so sure if he would  _ survive _ the bite, though, because he doesn't think he's strong enough. It's just not a risk Stiles is willing to take. 

 

Stiles sighs tiredly, and shoves the key in the ignition, waking up his beloved Jeep and backing out of the driveway. He doesn't turn the radio on, choosing instead to ponder in silence. 

 

**

 

He as the dream again that night, but this time, it's slightly different. 

 

He's still dashing through the forest, but he doesn't think he's alone this time. Stiles can't see whoever is running with him, but he knows they're there because he can  _ feel  _ them. 

 

The presence is somewhere behind him, not chasing him, just simply running with him. It's all the same trees and stumps and roots as all the other times, but Stiles doesn't feel so odd this time around.

 

He's got all the time in the world, right now. 

 

This late night run is purely for pleasure. 

 

Chilled winds gust over his body, the ground crunches softly underfoot, and Stiles has never felt so good in his life. A weight’s been lifted off his shoulders and he's flying with the freedom of it. 

 

A flash of startling blue coming up next to him is the last thing he sees before he wakes up. 

 

It doesn't feel as panicky as it usually does, this time. Stiles’ legs still shudder and ache, his breath still comes in panting gasps, but the alarm is gone. Instead he feels calm, almost relieved. 

 

At what, he doesn't know. He assumes it has something to do with with his new jogging partner. Whoever it might be, they don't seem to be after him, just simply keeping him company. 

 

Stiles appreciates the change in scenery. 

 

It makes his nerves a bit more quiet while he's in class, or sitting through another boring pack meeting. He likes that they all consider him pack, he really does, but he also wishes that they would let him go out with them more. 

 

He doesn't voice this, of course, not anymore. The last time he did all he got was an earful about how most of the “missions" are small, and don't require the help of everyone in the pack, and that it's better that way as it minimizes the number of injured.

 

Blah, blah blah. 

 

Stiles thinks it's just a really nice way of saying they don't need or want the help of a  _ human.  _

 

So he goes to all these pack meetings, listens to the big guys plan and argue, and tries to remember that he _actually_ _is pack,_ and that most of them are alive today because of some of the things Stiles has done for them. He contributes plenty, just not in the ways that seem to count. 

 

Somewhere between Stiles’ track star dreams, superfluous math equations, and supernatural blueprinted plans, him and Peter become something like friends. 

 

It would be odd if it weren't so comforting. 

 

Someone is finally  _ listening  _ to Stiles, even if they aren't the most favorable audience. 

 

When the rest of Stiles’ world is too busy plotting their next move against yet another paranormal threat, Peter is the one to stay with him and talk to him. 

 

They don't just talk about his dreams, either. Peter asks him about his classes, his father, his homework and even his favorite books and TV shows. Peter actually  _ talks _ to Stiles, and the boy has never been more non-creeped out by the were’s attention before. 

 

He's still a little wary though, because he's not an absolute idiot. 

  
  


**

  
  


The next time Stiles has the dream, Peter is there, running right beside him with a smirk that looks content and actually happy. 

 

Something tells him that Peter was always there.

 

They run together, maintaining different speeds but never losing sight of the other. Stiles doesn't feel changed in this one though, and he's surprised by the relief he feels at the realization.

 

He can't tell if it's his own acceptance he feels at not taking the bite, or if it's Peter's. Either way, it feels as freeing as actually taking the bite would. Peter circles back to Stiles’ side, and the younger man slows to a walk. 

 

Walking is new, he's never walked in the dreams before. 

 

They walk, side by side, in silence. Leaves protesting quietly beneath their shoes, the breeze brushing slightly warmer hands against their skin, petting softly through their hair, the moon handing down light that glows brighter than ever between the twisted trees. 

 

Stiles has never felt more at peace.

 

The dream has never been this content before. 

 

He looks over at Peter, who is already looking back. The man's eyes shine with a knowing spark, and his lips encourage Stiles to figure out what it is they both already know. Stiles stops moving, and stares, feeling like the answer is balancing haphazardly on the tip of his tongue. 

 

Peter simply stares back, something soft blossoming on his face. He takes a step forward, and places a kiss on Stiles’ forehead. 

 

When he wakes from this one, his body is calm for once, and his heart tells him to open his eyes.

  
  


**

 

At the next pack meeting, Stiles barges through the front door of the Hale house  like a man possessed. 

 

He throws his school bag onto the floor, the heavy books inside thumping angrily onto the wood. 

 

He scans the room once, twice, and then makes for the staircase when he doesn't find what he's looking for. 

 

Stiles ignores the eyes he can feel burning confused questions into his back as he ascends the stairs. 

 

He doesn't even knock when he gets to the room. 

 

Peter is sitting on his bed, legs stretched out and ankles crossed casually over each other. A book sits in his hands, he looks up from it when Stiles enters the room. 

 

Without saying a word, Peter closes the book, sets it on the bed beside him, unfolds himself from the bed and walks over to Stiles. 

 

He stands in front of him for a moment, before bringing his hands up to gently cup the boy's face, lips pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. 

 

Peter pulls back and smiles then, the same knowing smirk from the dream gracing his features. 

 

“I knew you'd figure it out.” He says quietly, sounding proud. 

  
Stiles’ answering grin burns out the sun. 

**Author's Note:**

> Vent to me on the tumblr @spidersonparker. 
> 
> You can request stuff from me there, too.
> 
> (Still can't make text into links)


End file.
